


We Danced, Of Course

by knowtheway



Series: the road to hell is paved with good intentions [1]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Hate Sex, Marriage, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-01-20 16:36:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18528931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knowtheway/pseuds/knowtheway
Summary: Perhaps one day she would understand that’s why she went through with marrying the High Priest. She didn’t trust Faustus any further than she could throw him, but she knew his buttons and exactly which ones to press in order to get her way. It was a finely-tuned talent and she had every intention of putting it to good use. And with the prospect of Ambrose rotting away in a dungeon while Sabrina cooked up another disastrous scheme she’d have to clean up, no doubt, she would use that talent starting tonight.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Needed to bridge the gap between their wedding and the Caligari spell. I suppose this is one way I could’ve seen it happening - and thus, digested it a bit better. So canon compliant-ish? I guess we can’t really know since we were given no explanation whatsoever, but hey ho.
> 
> This will have three chapters in total. Thanks for reading!

_Zelda_ _Spellman_ - _Blackwood_.

The name had a nicer ring to it two days ago. Before her niece had paraded as her brother’s undead corpse under the pretense of stopping her wedding. Before her nephew had been accused of murdering the highest official in the Church of Night. Before her husband had used the first moments of their marriage to cut her to size in front of the entire coven. And before she’d had to walk past her sister and niece’s tear-filled faces, carrying the pain in their eyes with her all the way to Italy.

The flight over had been spent mostly in silence, her gaze drifting out the window with small, tense smiles cast at Faustus when he’d rest his hand on her knee or smugly blather on about some topic or another. Oh, how his demeanor had changed once they’d departed. He was plainly pleased, which had made it all the more evident that his display of dominance had been less about reprimanding her and more about hurting the two watching - Hilda and Sabrina.

When they arrive at their hotel and make it up to their room, it is a welcome feeling to have some space between them. She lights her first cigarette as Faustus exchanges pleasantries with the bell boy before closing the door. She’s leaned against the window, idly watching traffic and catching herself envying the uncomplicated lives of the mortals below. What a mess hers was now. The smoke fills her lungs and it’s as if she‘s breathed for the first time since they left Greendale - a comfort that gives her a small reprieve from the chaos currently swirling in her mind. It’s caught up in the thought of Ambrose’s terrified face as they dragged him to his cell, Sabrina’s devastation when she’d told her she’d failed to stop her marriage, Hilda’s concern as she got in the car to leave... _I_ _didn’t_ _even_ _say_ _goodbye_ _to_ _them_ , she thinks, and her hand trembles slightly on the next drag.

It’s then that Faustus approaches. He places a hand on her waist and she straightens under his touch, smiling with a slight hum in his direction.

“I need to make a few calls, dearest,” his voice is low, leaning in to place a kiss on her forehead. “Will you entertain yourself while I see to some important business?”

“Of course,” her eyes are downcast, but she looks up at him sweetly. “Take your time.”

He gives her a surveying look and then smiles. Squeezing her waist, he pulls her to him. “Make yourself comfortable. I won’t be long.”

She nods and he kisses her quickly, stepping over to the desk as he hastily removes his tie.

She had told herself marrying Faustus was for her family - to salvage what was left of the Spellman name, and yet here she was an entire ocean away from them, leaving the last remaining Spellmans alone when they needed her most. Tears threaten to prick at her eyes as she wonders if she’s been selfish. Perhaps her lust for power - for status - had clouded everything else and now doomed those she had always vowed to protect.

But it’d hurt to find out Edward had rebuked Faustus’ plans for proposal all those years ago. How he’d watched her sullen in heartbreak for months (though she had been loathed to call it that at the time) and let her believe it was something she’d done to drive Faustus away. How her family thought so little of her own judgement and abilities that they were perpetually making decisions for her. So she was also angry.

And Sabrina. Sweet, headstrong, _foolish_ Sabrina. She had been right to say Zelda raised her to believe she could be anything she wanted... she just hadn’t considered what she wanted was to stress her into an early grave. She loved Sabrina - and though she had to admit a bit of pride in her niece’s strong will - somewhere along the line she wished she had better taught her the art of subtly. Of getting what she wanted without anyone realizing she had.

Perhaps one day she would understand that’s why she went through with marrying the High Priest. She didn’t trust Faustus any further than she could throw him, but she knew his buttons and exactly which ones to press in order to get her way. It was a finely-tuned talent and she had every intention of putting it to good use. And with the prospect of Ambrose rotting away in a dungeon while Sabrina cooked up another disastrous scheme she’d have to clean up, no doubt, she would use that talent starting tonight.

She pours herself a drink and makes a concerted effort to stay in his line of sight - idly surveying the dresser, running her hand over the bedding as she slinks past him, flipping through a book before delicately setting it back down. Her intention is to look thoroughly bored, but thoroughly delicious in front of him. She wants him to come to her and she knows it’s working when, as she sits on the bed and kicks off her heels, she catches him staring. She smiles and holds his gaze, just enough to distract him and have him fumble back into the conversation he should’ve had his full attention on. He clears his throat, “Yes, I’m still here, go on.”

Now that she’s sure to have his attention, she sways over and stops just in front of him. When he acknowledges her with a raise of his brow, she turns around, sliding her hair to one side and then pointing to the zip of her dress. She casts him a playful look over her shoulder and - with a poorly-concealed gulp, cradling the phone between his neck and shoulder - he reaches up and slowly undoes the zip. Shefeels his hands reluctant to let go and though she’s sure he’s admiring the sight before him (and it would be satisfying to confirm that theory right now), she stays facing forward until his hands drop away.

She steps towards the vanity, mouthing a quiet “thank you” at him as she slides her arms out and gives him a tantalizing view of what’s beneath. Tossing the discardeddress across the back of a nearby chair, she remains in nothing more than a delicate black slip, pouring herself another drink before sitting in front of the mirror and gingerly removing each piece of her jewelry one by one. Faustus remains in his conversation for another half hour, but she catches his reflection in the mirror admiring her every move.

_Good._

She’s nearly at the end of her (purposefully drawn out) routine when she hears the phone click down on the receiver. It’s then that she stands, pretending not to notice him approaching, and fusses over a loose thread in the hem of her slip. Just as she rips it off, she feels his arms wrap around her waist and hears him sigh against her neck. Sweeping her hair to the side, he leans down and begins laying soft, slow kisses across her shoulder. Her eyes flutter closed and she breathes deeply, her hands coming up to rest over his. He’s slid the strap of her slip down over her arm, continuing to trail his mouth over her soft flesh, when she raises a hand to lightly touch his face.

Time to, as the mortals would say, work her magic.

“Darling, I’m very tired,” she says quietly.

“Mmm, then by all means let me take you to bed,” and his grip tightens.

She lets out a soft, breathy laugh. “It’s been a very taxing day, has it not?”

“Indeed,” and it’s his turn to chuckle, moving his mouth up her neck now, “All the more reason for us to relieve each other of our stresses.” His hand moves to rest on her thigh, sliding up and under the silky material of her slip. “You wouldn’t deny a groom on his wedding night, would you?”

She suddenly stiffens in his arms. “And if the source of our stresses were for the fate of my nephew? ... _Your_ nephew?”

He stills, eyebrows raised, and an annoyed incredulity forms on his face. “ _My_ nephew?”

Their eyes meet in the mirror and hers narrow slightly in determination. “Do we not inherit each other’s kin through our union? Ambrose is your family as well as mine.”

“Brother Ambrose was found covered in the blood of his Unholy Eminence, weapon plainly in hand,” he counters, now clearly irritated, but she only rises to match him.

“He nor the other boys were given a chance to speak,” she says firmly.

His hands are resting on her hips and he grips into them tightly, his nails threatening to puncture the skin beneath, “No words could possibly reverse what was clear as night in front of us: guilt.”

She looks at him in silence for a moment, her expression hardened to a level that rivals his own. Then, she smiles resolutely. “Then, I suppose I would.”

“Would what?” he looks at her in confusion.

She pulls his hands from her hips and turns to face him proudly. “Deny a groom the _privilege_ of touching his wife.”

With a particular emphasis on her final word, she storms away, heading towards the wash room. That hadn’t gone exactly to plan, but it hadn’t exactly been disastrous, either. She would lock herself away, leave Faustus desperate and wanting, and only emerge to renegotiate when he was at his weakest, resigning to her the higher ground.

She’s two steps away from the start of making this a reality when she feels a firm grasp on her arm. Whipping her head around, she looks to see Faustus before her, his face brimming with rage.

“We weren’t quite finished, darling.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He runs a frustrated hand through his hair and huffs out a breathy laugh. “Forever loyal to your family, Zelda dearest. Even if they aren’t to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Rather than delay this another day, I broke up the next chapter into two parts. Thank you so much for the overwhelmingly kind comments on the first. I hope it lives up to the expectation (slightly nervous it won’t, but here we are lol).

“What in Satan’s name, Faustus? Let go of me!”

“You don’t get to just run away, my love,” his hand is still gripped tightly around her arm as he waves his other. All at once, the door of the washroom slams shut and every lock - windows and doors - clicks closed.

Anger and disbelief surges through her and it’s not even a second later that he bellows out a frustrated obscenity as his hand releases her arm due to the fiery hex she just placed on it.

“How dare you,” she seethes and begins to mutter a counter spell, flicking her wrist.

“Oh, I don’t think so, dear,” he says, still rubbing his smarted hand, but effectively blocking her attempt to out-magick him (for the moment).

She turns to glare at him, ready to start spouting off every curse in existence, frustration and heavily-veiled panic covering her face. “What is the meaning of this, Faustus?”

A sardonic laugh escape his lips as he gives his injured hand one last soothing squeeze and looks up at her. “I’ll not compete for the attention of my wife... nor her allegiance.”

“ _Allegiance_?” the look she gives him is as if he just asked her to renounce Satan himself.

“Did you not - only hours ago - vow to submit to me and respect me for all eternity as-“

“Lilith did Lucifer?” she boldly interjects.

“ _Precisely_ ,” he hisses and steps forward.

To that she huffs, holding her ground. “You’ve forgotten, _your_ _Excellency_ , that even in your bastardized version of our unholy texts,” she watches his face tense as if it were just slapped, “our Lord promised Lilith power and protection. To _rule_ by his side. He promised a partnership.”

“ _Rule_?” he scoffs, shaking his head and gritting his teeth. “You’re beginning to sound like your thorn of a niece.”

“Leave Sabrina out of this,” she warns and her jaw tightens.

“How on Earth could I? The girl inserts herself into every situation without warning! … Our wedding, hm?” he reminds her, arching his brow. “Accusing me of having Edward killed? As if I hadn’t taught him _everything_ he knew. As if I had not served him faithfully for _decades_ , even when his lofty ideas threatened to destroy our coven from the inside out and I had to take on the task of mending it when it all came crashing down! Satan forbid we return to order!”

“My brother did not destroy our coven, Faustus,” she can feel the heat rising to her face and a slow simmering rage pump through her veins. “That was never his intention!”

“Nor is it ever Sabrina’s intention, is it? And yet look at the wealth of destruction she’s caused for us. Every self-righteous outburst in the name of progress has resulted in endangering our kind and you know it … Her father’s daughter indeed,” he mutters as he angrily undoes the top buttons of his shirt, suddenly requiring more air.

She knew Faustus had resented Edward for surpassing him all those years ago (she was scarce to find a soul who didn’t know) but she had never considered just how deep it had taken root within him, that he would see Sabrina as an extension of Edward’s reign over him and an attempt to usurp him once again. She feels the beginnings of what might be pity and softens her voice cautiously as she says her next words, “She’s a child, Faustus.”

He runs a frustrated hand through his hair and huffs out a breathy laugh. “Forever loyal to your family, Zelda dearest. Even if they aren’t to you.”

Her heart begins to race and her anger threatens to bubble over again. “And what would you mean by that?”

He takes a moment, then smirks stepping towards her, and she gets the sinking feeling that he is about to succeed in the rare occurrence of making sense. “Zelda, my love, is it not you who has paid the price for their every transgression? Have _you_ not also been burdened with taking on the task of mending _their_ mistakes?”

She wants to balk at the suggestion (though part of her knows there’s truth to it), but he’s standing so close to her now that their bodies brush against one another and his gaze is so intense that she has to look away. Before she can begin to respond, he continues, stroking her arm with the back of his hand, “Think of all that’s been stolen from you. All you could’ve had. You’ve been cheated, Zelda.” She closes her eyes at his touch and tries not to listen. “Taking over the mortuary when your father passed, bearing the shame of hosting and caring for your felonious nephew, ending your professorship at the academy because of Edward’s heretical relationship with the mortal, giving up your freedom to raise his _ungrateful_ child, and… “

He pauses and she feels his hand on her chin, turning her face up to his. “And you and I,” he says. “What we could’ve had if not for… “

“Faustus, stop,” she whispers, her throat tightening.

He slides a hand into her hair and looks at her earnestly. “You have my name now. You are no longer obligated to answer for your family. I am the High Priest and you are my wife,” his face inches closer to hers, “And we could’ve had this so long ago.”

Images flash through her mind of their younger selves - heated debates at the academy, playful glances across the courtyard, scandalous whispers in the cloak closet, slow kisses and savoring touches under the Lupercalian moon. Something stirs inside her and it takes everything she’s got to brush it away.

“Don’t you see, Zelda?” his other hand squeezes her arm and his eyes bore into her with a look she can only describe as pleading. “You don’t have to belong to them anymore, you can belong to me.”

She blinks, eyes glistening, and the silence hangs heavy in the air as she looks at him in a somewhat state of shock. She had almost fallen into it – the dangerous idea that he may have cared for her - but with his last words, different images fill her mind – of Ambrose, of Hilda, of Sabrina. He stares expectantly at her and when several moments go by without an answer to his proposal, he squeezes her arm just the slightest bit tighter. It’s enough to get her attention and she takes a deep breath.

Oh, what a fool.

“My family is no burden,” her voice is shaking, but her words are as clear as she intends them to be. “I chose to be with them. Just as I chose to be with you. And you chose me.” She watches his eyes widen and his face slowly darken, but her voice only grows stronger, “It may mean precious little to you, Faustus, but my family is part of me. So you chose them, too.”

“No,” he warns and she shrugs out of his hold on her.

She stands tall towards him, eyes narrowed, and practically snarls out her next sentence. “I am no more and just as much a Blackwood as you are a Spellman!”

And then quick as a flash, he grabs her about the waist and slams her back into the wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sex is coming, I promise. Filthy, resentful sex. On its way very soon. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a dangerous game she’s playing, but it’s one they’ve engaged in for centuries and if there were ever a tally on the board, she’d undeniably come out on top. Even still, something about the stakes seems higher this round and though she knows she can (and will) break through the restraint he currently has her in, she can’t help but feel a whisper of doubt when her husband moves closer to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, but thank you again for all the lovely comments. Hope you enjoy! One more part to go!

The shock of it knocks the wind out of her and she instinctively presses her hands firmly to his chest, pushing back against him. Seemingly not to be outdone again, Faustus quickly captures her wrists and forces her arms behind her back, pressing all of his weight into her so that she is practically sealed against the wall.

“You test my patience, sweetheart,” he growls into her ear and she struggles roughly against him.

“I know the feeling,” she spits back and pushes against him, but he grips her wrists tighter, keeping her in place.

“Don’t bother wearing yourself out,” he sneers, “You’ll stay right here.”

Her heartbeat is racing and she feels the air vibrate with their combined magic warring against each other. A shiver runs through her as he stares into her eyes with an intensity she’s only seen just before he’s completely obliterated something (or someone) in rage. Their chests are heaving and she takes her open to weaken him the only way she knows how - crashing her mouth to his and sighing when he responds by releasing her wrists and gripping her waist tightly.

He’s trailing a hand up her abdomen, the other pulling her leg up to hook around his waist, and is just on the verge of cupping her breast when she bites down - hard - on his bottom lip. “FUCK!” he yells, dropping her leg and pushing back so abruptly that she stumbles a bit before steadying herself against the wall. He reaches up to touch his fresh wound with a hiss and then stares at her in wondrous incredulity.

She’s panting, but manages a small triumphant smile. “Taken off guard, my love?”

His face twitches briefly before his mouth curves into sudden a devilish grin. Roughlygrasping her chin, he forces her face up to his. “There’s my wicked girl,” he says softly, “Never quite able to control herself when the prospect of getting fucked is involved.”

She lets out an exasperated noise of dissent, but she feels an undeniable pulse of arousal between her thighs which only intensifies as he sinks his teeth into her shoulder. Faustus has always had a proclivity for being rough and she’s always had a proclivity for enjoying it, but if she wants to maintain power in this marriage, she needs to teach him that treats don’t come as easily anymore. In an attempt to regain control, she heaves her chest forward, pushing him back from her, “Don’t flatter yourself, Faustus - I think we both know of the two of us who can’t control themselves.”

It’s a dangerous game she’s playing, but it’s one they’ve engaged in for centuries and if there were ever a tally on the board, she’d undeniably come out on top. Even still, something about the stakes seems higher this round and though she knows she can (and will) break through the restraint he currently has her in, she can’t help but feel a whisper of doubt when her husband moves closer to her.

His face hovers over hers and he leans in with his hand on the wall next to her head. “No, hm?” he says and her breath hitches in anticipation.

Stepping back quickly, he hooks his fingers in the waistband of her underwear and roughly tugs them down her thighs. Before she can even blink, he spreads her legs, shoves his hand roughly between them and sighs when he finds her soaking wet.

“Mmm, naughty girl,” he tuts. “To be both a whore and a liar.”

He strokes two fingers over her and Zelda bites her lip to suppress the high little whine that threatens to escape her lips. There is no rhythm or delicacy - just pure exploration and he abruptly pulls his hand away, bringing it up between them.

She’d cut him if she could, and while her eyes try to do just that - he sucks the two digits into his mouth and groans with a satisfied smile. It’s a seductive image and - damn it to hell below - if he didn’t have her legs still spread painfully apart, she would have surely rubbed her thighs together in order to create some friction on her throbbing cunt.

Quickly returning his hand to its previous task, he teasingly brushes one finger over her entrance and presses himself back against her, leaning just so that he can see her face as he whispers in her ear.

“Still want to deny it, sweetheart?” He slides three fingers up to rub tight circles over her clit. “Pretend you’re precious in restraint when you’re currently dripping down my hand?” She whimpers loudly and he chuckles under his breath.

“Tell me you don’t want me to fuck this pretty cunt,” his voice tickling her ear, “Tell me to stop.”

Oh, she wants to. His words are maddening, infuriating, but she feels every nerve in her body screaming for him to shove his fingers into her, claim her mouth with his, and fuck her until she forgets her own name. What’s particularly vexing is that she knows it was his exact intention - her husband has never been one to take defeat well nor to concede a loss without a last ditch attempt at force. And thoughshe’d like to believe him a fool for thinking he’d have her bested this easily, she has to admit he’s currently working wonders in distracting her as she grinds down onto his hand.

“My delicious slut of wife,” he taunts, “You live for this, don’t you, darling? Want me to make you come right here?”

Fucking hell. Despite herself - yes, she absolutely does. “Oh Satan... oh, please,” she vaguely remembers being angry not long too ago, but right now her mind is so heavy with lust at the sound of his voice and the feel of his fingers and if he keeps hitting that spot -

A sudden bolt like electricity shoots through her, her body absolutely bursting in ecstasy, and she grabs his wrist to abruptly still his hand while she rides out the waves of her orgasm. She can hear him encourage her through it, her shuddering breath the one thing she can focus on save for the filthy open-mouthed kisses he’s laying across her neck.

When she re-emerges from the abyss of her pleasure, he’s tossed his shirt to the floor and is eyeing her with an animalistic desire that makes her legs weak. Without a second’s breath between them, he kisses her hungrily. His moans taste delicious in her mouth, and she feels the hardness of his cock straining beneath the confines of his trousers. She rubs herself against him to spur him on and suddenly his hands are everywhere, all over her - the intensity making her head spin.

If there is one (of several) things she and Faustus are well-matched on, it’s their devotion to the Dark Lord. In the farthest reaches of her memory, the first thing that drew her to him was the fervor, the passion with which he spoke of their most sacred beliefs. With a level of piety that could only rival her own, they danced around each other for months - clashing and harmonizing, attacking and retreating until one night he finally took her and fucked her senseless on the soft grass of the Academy gardens. Giving into carnality and pleasure was one of the highest of their unholy values and the way he touched her that night was as close to worship as if they’d been sat at mass.

Something about this moment right now - with his hands roaming over her slender form as if discovering her for the first time - makes the weight of their history leading up to the moment she called him husband crash deep within her. And suddenly - she’s furious.

They’re both gasping and sighing in near unison and it’s just as he makes to lift her up against the wall that her hands reach his shoulders and she sinks her nails into his skin, breaking it open with one fierce movement down his front.

The sound he makes is raw and vicious and she’s acutely aware that she’s sparked something in him now that she can’t stop. Turning her violently so that her back is pressed against him, he wraps his arms tightly around her waist. “Clever play, sweetheart,” jerking her into his chest for good measure, “But I think we’ve had enough of that, haven’t we?”

With a few rough and clumsy steps, he tosses her over the side of the bed on her front.The lamp on the side table and the centuries’ old artwork hanging on the wall clink and shake from the force of it and she hears the frenzied unbuckling of his trousers mixed with his heavy breathing. She starts to raise herself up on her forearms, but before she can make an inch of progress, a strong hand pushes her back down into the mattress.

“Oh no, no, dear,” he warns. “I’ll not let the night end without me fucking my pretty wife.”

She glares at him over her shoulder, “Old habits die hard, your Excellency. Always _taking_ what you couldn’t earn for yourself.”

His jaw tightens and his eyes darken. Then he lunges forward, bending over her and snaking an arm around her waist to sharply tug her up against his chest. Bringing his mouth next to her ear, he snarls out, “I can’t possibly _take_ ,” quickly pulling himself out of his trousers and positioning himself at her entrance, “something that so willingly comes to me.”

He slams into her without further warning and a breathy gasp escapes her lips. He wastes no time setting a brutal pace, her thighs hitting painfully into the side of the bed with each thrust, and a hand tangles in her hair, tugging lightly, while the other grips fiercely into her hip.

“Zelda,” he rasps out and she shudders as he hits deeper and deeper with every buck of his hips. “So good... So wet for me... just like you always are, aren’t you my darling?”

He isn’t wrong. She can feel herself absolutely dripping down her thighs, but she can barely catch her breath, her hands fisted tight into the bedding as he furiously pounds into her. So it surprises even her when she manages a strangled, “Faustus.”

The hand in her hair comes to wrap around her shoulders and loosely grip her throat. Applying a small bit of pressure, he leans in, “That’s it precious, say my name. Just like all the times you called on me before.”

She wants to ask what he could possibly mean by that, but then his hand on her hip dips between her legs and she cries out as he begins rubbing firmly over the sensitive bud that’s currently swollen with an unbidden desire - and her mind goes insane. Her body begins to feel that all too familiar buzz across her skin and it’s then that her husband slows his pace.

His breathing is fast enough to rival hers, but as he grinds himself into her, slowly working his hand between her legs, he whispers to her, “Who did you always come running to, love? ... When your family had used you up to your last wit’s end? Anytime you couldn’t bear anymore... you always came to me, didn’t you?”

She lets out a shivering breath, turning her head to look at him, her eyes flickering between challenging and pleading as he moves in her.

“Spread out on my desk like a common whore while I fucked you,” he kisses her neck, “all the times you were on those pretty knees for me,” her eyes close and his pace quickens, “and all the nights you begged me to fill this sweet little cunt with my come.”

She lets herself feel him, leans into his touch, arching her back towards his steadying rhythm.

“You’ve always belonged to me, darling,” he tilts her face to his, “You’ve always been mine.”

“Faustus,” she breathes and he kisses her hard, his hand furiously circling her clit and driving into her with absolute abandon.

She’s not even trying to restrain her moans anymore and when his cock hits a particularly sensitive spot, she practically screams. “Oh Satan, Faustus there, right there, fuck me, please, fuck.”

She feels her release coil tight in her belly and the pressure of his fingers makes her legs start to shake. “That’s it,” he hisses through gritted teeth, pounding into her faster, harder, “Yes, that’s it. Come for me, _wife_.”

She lets out a cry and wrings her hand tight into the bedding as her orgasm violently washes over her. She can hear herself - loud and wanton, and when he whispers a rather pleased “good girl” against her neck, she can’t stop a high whimper from escaping her lips. There’s a part of her that curses herself for giving him the satisfaction, but by Satan if he didn’t know exactly how to turn her into such a quivering wreck. She’s still clenching and spasming around him when she feels the warmth of his chest leave her back and his hands dig roughly into her hips. She gasps, her body still shaking, and hears him grunt above her as he begins to move again. With a few more vicious thrusts, she feels a rush of warmth inside her, hears him breathe out her name, and his hand slams down next to hers on the bed, signaling his release.

His hips continue rocking into her slowly, his breathing labored and ragged, and he slides a smooth hand up her back. She has her forehead resting delicately on her arm, panting softly, and feels the last of his seed spurt inside her.

“Zelda,” he breathes, still running his hands over her, “Oh, my good, good girl.”

He lays soft kisses across her shoulder blade just as her breathing returns to normal and she turns her head so that she can see him from the corner of her eye. Her husband looks thoroughly sated, labored and when he catches her gaze, he nearly smiles, a glint of affection in his eye she hadn’t altogether been prepared for.

“Faustus,” she whispers and closes her eyes at the feel of his lips moving up the back of her neck - her mussed hair swept aside. It’s then that everything washes over her at once - Ambrose, Hilda, Sabrina, her wedding, her marriage, her _husband_.

It’s suddenly all too much and - in addition to a cigarette and a strong drink - she needs some space. Faustus is still murmuring into her neck and shoulder and - making a concerted effort to hide the tears forming in her eyes - she speaks softly, “I trust you’ve gotten what you wanted, Faustus.”

It comes out as indifferent and unenthused as she wanted and she feels him still behind her. She can taste the contemplation in him and audibly hitches her breath to urge him on. There’s a moment of heavy silence and then - muttering something all-too-closely resembling “not remotely” - he pulls out and away, rebuckling his trousers and walking over to the bar to fix himself a drink.

She takes a moment, eyes closed, and then eases herself up on her side. She feels dizzy as she stands, running a hand through her hair and carefully makes her way towards the washroom again. She pauses at the door, wondering if in their frenzied state he’d thought to take the spell off, but then it opens suddenly. She turns around and he gives her an acknowledging nod as he sips his freshly poured scotch.

She steps over the threshold, places her her hand on the doorknob, and turns back again.

“I may have your name, _husband_ , but I will not forsake my family,” she feels her throat tense again with the threat of tears, but she musters a last bit of strength to get her final words out, “and I will never... _belong_ to you.”

And the door slams shut.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I fussed over this chapter quite a bit and I’m still not altogether pleased with it. I feel like I may have lost them a bit here, but I hope you see how I’ve set it up and that it makes sense!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And mere months ago. When it’d all become too much again - when the thread of the tapestry she’d so carefully woven to repair her family’s honor started to unravel and her father’s judging voice crept back into her subconscious telling her she had failed (again) - she went to him. Dancing their all-too-familiar routine until he’d knelt to meet her in a hungry kiss on the parlor floor and granted her absolution from her inner torment, if only but for a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we’ve reached the unfortunate end. This chapter was hard to write, but I wanted to stick with canon, so I made that choice for myself at the start. 
> 
> That being said, thank you for all the generously kind comments. It was so nice discussing these two with you all and here’s hoping we get some damn explanation in part three, along with a healthy catharsis of Faustus meeting his demise, eh?

She makes sure to seal the door once it’s shut, leaning against it and taking a few deep breaths. She hears his glass clink down on the counter and an incoherent curse muttered from the other side. Her eyes close and she presses her forehead to the door, allowing exactly one minute to gather herself together. Turning towards the mirror, she looks at her reflection and is as much of a wreck as she’d expected – lipstick smeared, mascara streaked down her cheeks, hair messy and tangled. Not to mention the litany of fresh bruises still forming down her neck, arms and legs – something she knew Faustus would take pride in seeing, knowing he had marked her so thoroughly.

_You’ve_ _always_ _belonged_ _to_ _me_ , _you’ve_ _always_ _been_ _mine_.

Oh Lucifer in hell, what had she gotten herself into? She knew marrying Faustus would result in a perpetual battle of wills, she just hadn’t expected it to kick off with such fervor the first night of them being husband and wife. He had always been prone to possessiveness, something she can admit fueled her desire at times, but never before in such absolute terms. Perhaps it’s the exhaustion, the fatigue - but for the first time in what feels like ages, she is at a loss of what to do. For now, she thinks, she’ll start with a shower.

Removing her tattered slip, she makes the water run particularly hot and sighs against the promising steam. Stepping in, it takes a moment for her to adjust to the temperature, but then she gratefully lets the water cascade over her aching body. It’s soothing and stinging all at once – quite the perfect metaphor.

_You_ _always_ _came_ _to_ _me_ , _didn’t_ _you?_

Of the many things they discussed (or, rather, battled over) this evening, this is the one sticking with her.

She remembers running off to the forest, tears streaming down her face after herfather had all but blamed her for her mother’s death (much like he did everything else that went wrong, it seemed). Faustus had met her in a clearing, propped her up against a tree and fucked her so hard that, for the briefest of moments, she forgot the pain and rejection and focused on nothing save for the feel of his lips on her skin and the scratch of the tree against her back.

Edward’s coronation. They’d both needed each other that day. Faustus simmering in resentment and Zelda, though proud of her brother, needing reassurance she had worth beyond being simply kin to the new High Priest. After making her come twice with his mouth, he laid her atop his office desk and buried his cock inside her, relishing in her delicious screams for the better part of that afternoon.

When Edward brought Diana home. She nearly lost all composure that day. Not a mortal. Not her brother. Not after sacrificing so much of herself to bolster him in his leadership of the coven would she watch him spit on their sacred traditions and just throw it away. She’d had many an argument with Edward in her life, but that was the first time they genuinely fought. It’d left her in such a state, shaking in rage and despair, that she nearly felt herself going mad. So she ran to something familiar, something she could always rely on to remain consistent. She ran to him. It was one of the few times they’d managed to make it to a bed and she spent the night riding his cock into her own personal ascension before falling into exhaustion beside him. She left without a word the following morning.

She started killing Hilda again one month after Edward and Diana’s funeral. Sabrina had been particularly fussy all one morning and Hilda’s constant hovering and infuriating cheerfulness had Zelda grabbing the closest sharp object and driving it into her sister’s throat without a second thought. She’d regretted it instantly. In addition to the absolute mess she’d now have to clean up, she had little help with the baby and no one to pour her a cup of tea and rub soothing circles on her back when the grief threatened to consume her. After burying Hilda’s body and going inside, she had been surprised to find him sitting in the parlor with Ambrose, who was making a rather disastrous attempt to play peek-a-boo with Sabrina on the floor. This time it hadn’t been premeditated - at least, not from her. Ambrose took Sabrina upstairs and Faustus - _Father_ _Blackwood_ she’d reminded herself - followed her into the kitchen for a, as he put it, courtesy visit for a family in grief from his coven. She can’t recall how long they talked, can’t recall how little time it took nor just exactly what prompted it - but he’d hastily lifted her up on the counter and drove himself into her until she was sobbing and clinging to him like the he was the only thing keeping her anchored in the present. It was the one time - the only time - she’d let him hold her. Then again, they had always been so quick to retreat - perhaps it was the only time he ever tried.

And mere months ago. When it’d all become too much again - when the thread of the tapestry she’d so carefully woven to repair her family’s honor started to unravel and her father’s judging voice crept back into her subconscious telling her she had failed (again) - she went to him. Dancing their all-too-familiar routine until he’d knelt to meet her in a hungry kiss on the parlor floor and granted her absolution from her inner torment, if only but for a moment.

The water is running over her head and she leans forward to press her palm to the tile as she lets out a strangled sob. She feels so foolish... not to have realized it until now. Whereas she married him to protect and fortify the Spellman name, he married her because he thought she was trying to escape it. He thought it was a mutual source of suffering, he thought he was _saving_ her. And there is a part of her - a rather large part at present - that knows she lead him to believe that. Putting her hope into the idea that the shower will drown out other sounds, she finally lets herself break.

When she re-emerges and opens the door, she’s wrapped in a thin silk robe and has spelled her hair dry, in addition to masking any redness or puffiness lingering around her eyes. She expects darkness and welcomes the idea that she‘ll be able to slip into bed without further notice. Instead, every light remains on - Faustus is sitting in an armchair, dressed in his bed clothes and nursing a drink which Zelda knows must be the fourth of fifth since the original he poured just an hour ago.

He locks eyes with her, his features softening, a small smile forming on his lips. “Dearest,” he greets her, his voice low and uncharacteristically gentle. It makes her tense and her arms instinctively cross over her stomach in the defensive pose she’s favored her entire life.

“Faustus, I truly am tired now,” she says softly, pleading. “I don’t wish to talk anymore tonight.”

He gives a resigning nod, idly rocking the glass in his hand back and forth as if mulling over a decision he was in the process of making. “I know, darling, it’s just that it’s nearly sunrise and I’d hate for our first night in unholy matrimony to end on such a sour note.”

“Hm. Yes, well, dear husband,” her voice stiffens. “I wouldn’t even know how you’d propose to sweeten it at such a late hour.”

He sighs out a chuckle. “Do let me try,” and he gets up to walk towards her.

He’s a few steps away and her body becomes more and more rigid as he gets close. It’s not lost on him and he slows to approach tentatively, stopping within an arm’s length. “Please, Zelda. It’s been a long journey, but grant me this one last moment and then I will gladly join you in sleep,” he smiles and offers his glass of liquor to her.

Silence passes between them and she eyes him carefully. Her interactions with Faustus have always been a rather dangerous sport since their inception, but something inside her is setting off a warning bell for reasons she can’t quite figure out. Even still, she’s made clear that she’s not an easy opponent and by Lucifer’s hand, she really needs that drink. 

Accepting the glass, she brings it to her lips and takes a grateful sip. Bourbon. Wonderful. When she brings it back down, he extends his hand, smiling at her, “Come, I’ve something to show you.”

She raises a brow skeptically, but places her hand in his and allows him to lead her to the large table by the balcony doors. Atop it sits an ornate wooden box she hadn’t noticed when they first arrived and his face lights up when he sees her eyeing it.

“It’s a gift,” he smiles, swelling with pride similar to that of when he handed her his interpretation of “Lucifer Morningstar.”

She blinks, staring at him blankly. “A gift?”

“Mmm,” he nods, “I had hoped to give it to you under, um... “ he hesitates, scratching the side of his face, “ _different_ circumstances, but I hope you’ll be happy to accept it nonetheless.”

Her brow twitches and her lips part slightly. She can count on exactly two fingers the amount of times Faustus has ever given her a gift. One was a leather bound copy of their Satanic bible after her Dark Baptism - a traditional gift and somewhat compulsory for the younger sister of his newly paired mentee. The second was flowers when they were young and she was angry... before he knew it required much more than that to appease her. So trying to her best to hide her confusion, she takes another sip of her drink and steps forward to inspect it more closely. It’s made of a fine cherry wood with detailed engravings on the sides and a golden clasp at its front - and it appears to be as old as she is, quite clearly coming from a different time. She touches the top of it and turns to him, “What is it?”

“A music box,” he smiles. “The only of its kind.”

Well, now she’s even more confused. “Oh... “

Sensing her hesitation, he steps behind her and lightly grabs her waist. “Here,” he pulls her in front of it, taking the glass from her hand and setting it on the table with a small clink. Reaching around her, he opens the top to reveal a miniature dancing figurine which - if she didn’t know better - one could say bore the tiniest of resemblance to her.

“Do you like it?” he asks tentatively, his arms now properly encircling her waist and his face peeking over hers to gauge her reaction.

In all honesty, she’s not sure, but in an effort to speed up her inevitable fall into a deep sleep under soft bedsheets, she gives a small nod. “Yes, Faustus, it’s lovely,” she says, turning her face to his and offering him a resigned smile. “Thank you.”

He returns the gesture and kisses her briefly. “I thought you might use it to store any new jewelry you might buy here,” he whispers to her and her sense of trepidation starts to creep back in. Far it be it from him to think of such details. “It also plays a rather intoxicating tune. Wind it up, you might recognize it.”

“Can it wait until morning, dear? I fear I won’t have the strength of mind to truly appreciate it at present,” she hopes it doesn’t sound as suspicious she thinks it does, but it must, because he just chuckles and reaches forward to wind it himself.

“I’ve strength enough for both of us, I think,” he says proudly, and with a few more tight turns, the music starts.

It’s a sweet little melody, she can admit, with the dancing figure turning cheerfully to the delicate ‘tings’ of the song that only a music box can create. It reminds her of one Hilda had in their youth - one she never admitted she was fond of, but would often play when no other soul was around.She tries hard to recall the details of it in comparison, but the memory starts to dissolve and she finds it more difficult than necessary to reach it. She must be more tired than she realized.

“Zelda, my darling,” he murmurs into her hair and it takes a concerted effort to focus on anything other than the hypnotizing twirl of the precious figurine before her. “I never wanted this to be hard for you. I never wanted you to suffer.”

She hears him, but she can’t quite comprehend.

“I have such plans for us, my dear,” his breath tickles her neck now, “And I can’t possibly watch you compromise it by maintaining your loyalties to those who would interfere. I want you by my side, so I need to be a good husband and protect you... especially from yourself.”

“I... “ she wants to protest, cut him with the sharpness of her tongue like only she can, but she finds she’s suddenly not able to. It’s then she hears the faint whisper of Latin - a spell - and she’s just on the verge of recognizing it when her mind all at once becomes a rosy haze. She feels a tug into a sugary cheerfulness which is altogether foreign to her, but finds she can’t shake it off. She’s heavy with it, as if wading through a river of honey and her mind is just too tired, too confused, too...

“Didn’t you say you were tired, my dear? Shall I take you to bed?”

She stares off blankly into the distance, but nods all the same. Turning to look at him, she smiles sweetly. “Yes, please... _husband_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this made sense and wrapped things up believeably. Since it seems to be a point of contention lately - I just want to clarify that this fic is, in no way, a justification of Faustus’ actions. I was as appalled as anyone and anyone reading this should understand their relationship potrayed in part 2 is abusive, unhealthy, and toxic. Do not replicate this in your own relationships - they are MAD fucked up, guys. 
> 
> Even still - I simply wanted to provide an attempt at an explanation because - to me - it went from 0 to 1000 with no warning. So I hope I’ve at least managed that and that those reading have enjoyed. Thank you so much again!


End file.
